Gibblets, Ghoulies, and Ghosties
by Dixie Dewdrop
Summary: Leroy Jethro Gibbs works hard to effectively parent his four little personalities: Tony, Kate, Tim, and Abby. However, dealing with their night fears often leaves the Gunny exhausted. This story belongs in my Here and Now scenario.
1. Ghoulies

Ghoulies

Leroy Jethro Gibbs carefully opened his front door and entered his home gingerly, wincing each time his foot actually made contact with the ground. Pain radiated from his knee to his ankle and he clenched his jaw in anticipation of crossing the room.

Dreading that journey had been the right approach. When he finally reached the sofa he fell back against the cushions with a grunt. A wave a resultant pain swept over him and he waited for it to pass before using both hands to grasp his leg behind the knee and prop it on the coffee table.

Unfortunately, that attempt ushered in another arc of pain.

Jethro reluctantly dug the bottle of pain pills Ducky- the incomparable Dr. Ducky Mallard- had provided him after his exam the hour before. Over Jethro's arguments Ducky had ordered him home for the rest of the day. Their NCIS Director echoed the command and reiterated that falling off a curb while actively pursuing a scumbag constituted a work related injury and therefore, Jethro was benched for the rest of the day.

Smirking at the pronouncement, Dr. Mallard added that Agent Gibbs could certainly catch up on sleep during the enforced recovery.

Jethro had disagreed and grumbled that Ducky compromised civilian and non-civilian safety by keeping him away from his job.

"I'm sure Washington will survive things that go bump in the night for one afternoon without you at the helm," Ducky contradicted.

Jethro had just glared and done his best to stalk to the elevator without further aggravating his knee.

Now in the privacy of his home and from the safety of his couch the agent admitted to himself that the pain's intensity cut him to the core. He shook out two of the pills from the bottle and swallowed them dry, unwilling to move his leg to brave the trek to the kitchen for something to drink.

Leaning against the sofa's cushioned back he closed his eyes and waited for the stabbing pain to slow.

" **Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Terrified screams awoke Jethro Gibbs and he bolted out of bed and hurried to the bedroom his boys shared.**

Four year old Tim stood on top of his bed and thrust out his arms the moment his father appeared, fear evident from his tears and frightened expression.

Grabbing the terrified child against his chest, Gibbs felt the preschooler's heart pounding through his pajama top. Murmuring assurances, he cupped a hand on the top of the little boy's silky blond hair and then began rhythmically stroking the little cheeks and forehead to comfort him. Tim shuddered against him and it took almost a full two minutes before the father had him calm enough to identify the source of his terror.

Luckily, across the room six year old Tony had stirred but not awoken with the commotion. Gibbs narrowed his eyes appraisingly to confirm that his eldest had slipped back into dreamland.

Evidently his girls, three year old Abby and five year old Kate, had also slept through the scene from their room across the hall.

Jethro was grateful. One child awake after bedtime certainly didn't cause as many repercussions as two or three or four children did.

When he finally felt some of the tenseness dissipate and Tim ease against him he sat down on the child's bed. Jethro adjusted Tim so that he had a sitting position in his lap. Tim rested his head against his father's chest, sniffing from the last of his tears, but calm. Jethro inhaled deeply. Why did little people even have to endure nightmares? Their worlds should stay sugar plum fairies and blasting sunshine.

Jethro slid a hand soothingly up and down one little leg and probed, "Are you ready to tell me what happened in your dream now?"

Tim's face puckered again at the memory and he slid his tiny hand into his daddy's free one. "That ghoulie wanted to snatch me, Daddy."

"He did?"

"Uh huh." Tim's little head nodded against his father's chest. "And then I ran." He reached down and scratched his ankle.

Gibbs sat silently for several seconds before he responded. "Son, you know that you had a nightmare and that the ghoulie wasn't real, right? Sometimes when we go to sleep our imaginations and brains create dreams where everything is wonderful, but at others we create scary dreams. But do you remember what Daddy has told you before about nightmares?"

Tim picked up Jethro's hand and covered his own tiny one with it. "They're not real 'cause they're all make believe."

"And?"

"And you are right there." Tim used his free hand to point in the direction of his father's room.

"Correct," Gibbs confirmed, softly kissing the silky hair. "What else can you tell me?"

Tim licked his lips. "You will always protect me."

"That is completely correct, also. I won't let anything bad happen to you-ever. I love you very much." Jethro smiled and repositioned Tim in his lap so that the child faced him.

Tim balled his hands into fists and rubbed his eyes then yawned. "Can I sleep with you tonight, Daddy?"

Jethro debated his answer. While all four kids had slipped into his bed countless times and snuggled with him, he tried to establish and maintain the understanding that they were always expected to sleep in their own beds.

But regarding Tim's still-fearful green eyes Jethro agreed. "Let's stop by the bathroom first though."

Tim slipped off of his dad's lap and pulled at Jethro's hand. "I won't wet your bed, Daddy. Let's go now, please."

Afterwards Tim fell asleep burrowed safely against Jethro's body. His dad found it difficult to return to sleep, however. His mind replayed Tim's terror and then segued to how his four kids individually and together reacted to fearful situations.

Even at four, Tim still found it difficult to physically leave Jethro to venture off alone.

For example, at the neighborhood park he and the children generally visited, Tony, Kate, and little Abby would race off the moment after Jethro reviewed the rules with them and permitted them to leave. In a split second Tony would have leapt onto the merry go round, Kate would have joined other playground visitors at the see saws, and Abby would have found the kiddie animal section and climbed onto the plastic rocking sheep.

Tim would stand leaning against his father's leg, surveying the area and watching his siblings as they gleefully chose their play equipment. One hand would clutch Jethro's thigh. After several minutes elapsed Tim would suddenly turn and verify, "You'll be right here when I get back, right Daddy?"

Jethro would confirm his assurance and finally Tim would set out to seek his own entertainment.

Still, it nagged at Jethro that the little boy's trepidation at being separated from his father had not diminished as he matured. A perfect example was Gibbs discovered that unless he stopped everything he was doing and focused entirely on Tim while he verbally reviewed where he was going and how long he would be, the child would nearly panic.

Gibbs attributed the behavior to Tim's innate timidity and tried not to worry about Tim outgrowing it.

Still- he did worry.

Tim craved routine and responded to it positively.

Over time Jethro had learned to fit in contact opportunities in which to touch base with his youngest son, even if for just a minute or two. It made an undeniable difference. Should he find himself having to stay longer at work, or coming home late because of traffic, Jethro would make a quick call home and speak directly to Tim. He would explain the delay and the newly adjusted and newly projected time home. Tim would listen thoughtfully throughout the account and during the conversation Gibbs could imagine his child's mental processing as his dad described his wait.

Anyway, whether Tim stayed with the sitter or with his pre-school teacher, they reported to Jethro that the calls always soothed his son.

So he made it a point to touch base personally with the four year old.

Jethro massaged the back of his neck and then rubbed fiercely at his temples. The beginnings of a headache had begun right behind his eyes.

He closed his eyes resignedly. His day would be a busy one and he certainly would rather approach it with a clear- and not throbbing- head.

At those times when he allowed his imagination to wander to the future he envisioned a teen aged Tim or a college graduate Tim, and his musings always showcased the child as focused, methodical, and meticulous about detail. Tim, he felt confidently, would always prove academically inclined and always ready to learn something new. Already Tim pestered his father to explain, or demonstrate, or describe anything out of the ordinary the child encountered. At four he would mimic his older sister and brother as they practiced their schoolwork, and spent hours taking apart and reassembling any small appliance or gadget his father found for him.

Jethro shifted in his seat and glanced towards the row of family photos on the mantel. Effectively parenting four small children demanded his physical, emotional, and mental best, and respecting and nurturing their differences- such as Tim's- throughout the years would impact them all for the rest of their lives.

So when fears of a ghoulie arose it was up to their daddy to assuage them.


	2. Long leggety Beasties

Long leggety Beasties

A scant two weeks later Jethro tiptoed upstairs and discovered that Tony had relocated sometime after his own bedtime and before his father's. The six year old currently lay sprawled across his father's bed and had fallen asleep clutching Jethro's pillow.

Gibbs shook his head and raised his eyebrows quizzically at the ceiling. What had happened? When he had tucked the child into bed a couple of hours earlier the little boy had not been sick and certainly hadn't acted worried or frightened.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had plenty of experience putting children to bed, as well as returning those children to bed.

Carefully maneuvering Tony onto his back, Jethro slid one arm under the first grader's legs and another under his neck, then positioned Tony solidly against his body. He moved silently to Tony's room and gently slid his son back underneath his own covers.

Tony shifted with the movement then and opened his eyes. Tony had beautiful eyes- a compelling green with long lashes. "Daddy, no," he whispered, then spoke a bit louder and with a hint of panic. "The smallycastor's going to get me!"

"The what?"

Tony scooted over and grabbed Jethro's hand, tugging until his father sat down beside him on the tufted edge of the mattress.

Gibbs stroked the dark blond hair and repeated softly, "The what, Big Boy?"

Tony's face clouded. "The long legged smallycastor might be hiding in my closet and he'll sneak out and eat me for my blood."

Jethro's mind ramped as he searched his repertoire of fictitious undesirables until he ultimately recognized the culprit. He traced Tony's mouth with a forefinger. "A snollygaster- that's what you're talking about, right, Son?"

The little boy nodded fearfully in reply.

The feral snollygaster, Jethro recalled, roamed densely wooded areas in the East, from D.C. to Pennsylvania, and boasted long bird like legs that it activated like an octopus, sharp teeth, and wings which helped him spirit his prey away, never to be seen again.

"No such thing," Jethro leaned down and kissed the tip of Tony's nose. "The snollygaster is a made up monster and doesn't really exist. Never has."

"Derek and Zane said he did," Tony argued, puffing his lips into a pout.

"Those boys are in middle school," Jethro reasoned. "Middle schoolers always try to scare elementary kids, especially first graders."

Tony insisted, "Zane saw one. He told me so that he did see one."

"He said he saw one," Gibbs contradicted. "but he couldn't have. No one in the entire world has ever captured a snollygaster or taken a picture of one. You know why? There's no picture because snollygasters aren't real. If they really existed we would have some proof."

Jethro nodded sagely at the little boy.

"But they are long leggety." Tony played with the fingers on his father's left hand and remained unconvinced. "Then they kick you down and gobble all your blood."

Jethro slowly shook his head from side to side. "Tony, listen to Daddy. All over the world there are myths and legends about monsters and beings no one ever really sees. For example, one of them is called the Loch Ness, and another is the Yeti. Sometimes people will talk themselves into believing that they have seen something when they actually haven't. Other people add to the stories and before you know it, those stories and the misinformation spread all over."

Tony reached up and put a hand on Jethro's chin to tilt his father's head towards the closet. "Go look, Daddy. Please. He's got long legs and he can stomp me. I'm really scared. I'm scared of the smallycastor."

Jethro started to again refute the monster's existence, but changed his mind once he regarded his son's face. The boy showed genuine fear, and this was his Tony, his rough and tumble, daredevil and risk taker Tony. The child must be absolutely terrified if he continued to react this way.

Jethro winked instead, slid off the bed, and smiled. "Watch me."

Tony sat up a bit straighter but bunched the covers so that he concealed all of himself except his face. He obediently peeped at his father from his place of safety.

Jethro contrived a dramatic show of checking the closet, cleared the bedroom's four corners, and declared the spaces under the beds snollygaster free. Once he returned to Tony's side he reiterated the absence of the snollygaster as well as the absence of any trace of the snollygaster.

Tony listened politely before scrambling to his feet on the mattress. Then with a display of his natural agility he latched firmly onto his daddy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck and his legs around his dad's waist. He snuggled against Jethro's chest before announcing, "I'll just go to your bed now, Daddy. I'll sleep with you tonight."

Too tired to continue to reason with him, Jethro capitulated, carried Tony across the hall and tucked the little boy snugly into his own bed.

Tony fell asleep long before Jethro joined him, and Gibbs marveled at the trust the child possessed for him. His little boy slept soundly because of his confidence, his belief that his father watched over him.

Yes he did.

And yes he would.

Jethro massaged his temples and considered the paradox that was his Tony.

From infancy the term "all boy" had been lobbed Tony's way when observers were asked to describe the child. A natural athlete, he possessed a physical prowess so innate that his moves appeared graceful. In addition, his social personality manifested itself in a chameleon-like way so that he made friends easily and managed to draw complete strangers into incredible conversations.

Further, Tony took his role as he oldest of the four children seriously, despite his happy-go-lucky approach to life.

Yet despite his many talents and aptitudes Tony retained an inner core of insecurity.

Perhaps that lack of confidence shed light upon the snollygaster fear.

Jethro made the rounds and checked his other three kids before slipping under the sheets. Even asleep Tony sensed him and wriggled his little body until he rested his upper body upon his father's chest. Jethro stroked the soft hair and forehead until Tony transitioned back into the sleep cycle.

Jethro allowed his thoughts to travel back a couple of years when Tony began playing tee ball as a four year old, something he had babbled excitedly about for weeks before the sports season. From practice session one and game one spectators recognized him as his team's star but Jethro continued to drill the concept of teamwork into the little boy. The first actual match pit Tony's team against little baseball aficionados from across the city and Tony immediately zeroed in on the opposing team's catcher, who appeared to have some type of physical handicap.

Tony slipped out of the dugout and located his father busily situating baby Abby in her stroller. Tim perched on Jethro's lap and Kate played with another preschooler right in front of the stands.

"Son, why are you here? You need to be with your team now. We're all going to watch you," Jethro reminded him.

Tony frowned and confessed, "Daddy, I'm scared."

Gibbs regarded him in surprise.

"Scared of the boy, Daddy," Tony elaborated, squinting up at his father. "Do you see?" He waved his hand towards the outfield where the other team practiced.

Jethro zeroed in on Tony's target and inhaled slowly. "There is no reason to be afraid, Son. From what I can tell, that little boy has palsy, which means his muscles are weaker than yours and can't work as well. Despite that, he is exactly like you and the others on your teams, and believe me, he wants to participate with his team and play tee ball. He won't hurt you, Son."

Tony frowned. "I already knew that, Daddy. I was telling you I'm scared I will hurt him and I don't mean to do that."

Admiration flooded the NCIS leader. "You'll figure out the right thing to do when the time comes," Jethro promised, his pride nearly bursting at his boy's insight. "You'll figure out how not to injure him."

So just how did Tony handle it?

The child came up to bat with Tony as pitcher. With Tony's third throw the tee ball and bat connected, and the ball rolled four or five feet. Tony stood immobile as the child started for base and until the little boy had nearly made it to first. Only then did he grab the ban and run to intercept. Tony's opponent stepped onto the protection of the rubber base and his little face lit with sheer joy.

Parents from both sides grasped the triumph that had overcome the handicap and yelled out praise and congratulations of the play.

Jethro's whistle and yells drowned out the other sounds to his son. Tony grinned at his dad.

Standing just yards away with the ball in his hand, Tony doffed his cap to the heroic first base trailblazer before jogging back to the pitcher's mound.

What a game, and what a son!

Jethro closed his eyes and tried to channel his thoughts towards sleeping and away from the long leggety monsters in a little boy's nightmares.


	3. Bumps in the Night

Bumps in the Night

Jethro mused over the rationale involved in making sense of the great and complex unknown as viewed from a toddler's perspective.

Several weeks earlier his youngest, Abby, had turned bedtime upside down for several consecutive nights. Usually a happy and sunny toddler, each bedtime approach had been met with copious tears and agonizing meltdowns.

Yet each time Jethro sought to get to the bottom of the distress it always centered upon a noise the baby heard, or thought she had heard.

Thus bedtimes evolved into nerve wracking standoffs. Either Abby would begin the protest once Jethro lifted her into his arms or she would begin the protest once he tucked her under the covers.

Wailing "Daddy, no!" her little rosebud mouth would quiver and she would grab him around the neck to avoid putting her head down on the pillow.

With effort Jethro would manage to disentangle himself while offering assurances and while also insisting to her that all was well.

But tears would begin to flood her green eyes and she would babble between sobs that she had heard a noise down the hall, or near the closet, or from under her bed. Jethro would reason with her verbally about nothing to fear before physically marching over to the designated area to prove to little Abby that nothing lurked. Still, sometimes it would take over half an hour to calm her enough to get her to close her eyes, which jangled his nerves and affected putting the other three to bed.

When he finally, and very wearily would give up and prop against the headboard of her small bed, Abby would sprawl bodily across his lap as if to cement him into place. Jethro would stroke her fine blond hair and murmur soothing words until the tiny fingers gripping fingers on his hand relaxed, and he knew she had finally slipped into sleep.

Still, even then there was no guarantee that she would remain content and asleep for the night. Frequently he would wake to her panicked voice summoning him. Once he navigated the hall to her she would frantically grab onto his clothes and climb into his arms, crying as she tilted her head and pointed in the general direction of some unheard-to-anyone-else-noise that had terrified her.

Or, at other times she would crawl out of her own bed, cross the hall, and climb to security in her big brother's bed. Jethro would discover her snuggled against Tony, who would never fail to have a protective arm slung across his baby sister.

The obvious terror she experienced gnawed at Jethro and he exhausted his repertoire of parenting skills targeting bogeymen and sleep monsters as the nights progressed and continued to progress. The situation became so tense that he debated just skipping putting her in her own bed altogether and relocating her to his, but eventually decided to save that option as the ultimate last resort. If he capitulated and allowed Abby to sleep with him it would be unfair to the other three, who had also begged repeatedly to act as his permanent bedfellows for the past six years.

It disturbed Jethro that his spunky and vivacious baby dreaded bedtime so badly.

Not putting his finger on the definitive source of her problem gnawed at him, but attempts to elicit more information from Abby proved disappointing.

Finally one Saturday evening the family assembled in front of the television after supper to watch Disney's _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves._ Anticipation had built all day, and the children had reminded Jethro numerous times that this was indeed the evening of the show, and Daddy had promised popcorn and blankets and pillows on the floor. Did Daddy have everything ready he had promised for their movie night?

Indeed Daddy had, and Jethro couldn't resist a grin as all four raced through supper and baths to plant themselves in the living room half an hour before show time. As promised, Jethro served popcorn and juice and squatted down to arrange the bedding into comfortable little nests. Once the movie's opening credits scrolled he slid over to the sofa and clicked on the reading lamp. He had waited all month to catch up on reading the two military based magazines for which he had subscriptions.

He dived into the first article and read eagerly until talking startled him. He glanced over his reading glasses to see the first set of commercials were airing.

Tony and Kate lay on their stomachs, chins propped in their hands. They appeared mesmerized and reluctant to move lest the action begin without them.

Abby scooted over to Tim, who sat cross legged and watched a commercial with rapt interest. It featured a child proclaiming his delight with a model car racetrack.

"Did you see that witch?" Abby interrupted.

Tim's eyes widened and he pointed towards the screen. "Shhh! I want to hear."

Nevertheless, when the advertisement concluded he turned to his baby sister. "She's going to do something bad."

Abby frowned thoughtfully. "How do you know?"

"I can tell from her face."

"Did she say that?" Abby persisted.

"What?"

"That witch- how did she say she'd do something bad?"

"No, but she's a witch and that's proof. That's what witches do," Tim explained patiently.

Abby considered his answer and then crawled and elbowed a path onto the sofa. She made her way to Jethro and plopped onto his lap. "Hey Daddy."

Jethro grinned. "Hey yourself, Cute Girl."

"Do you like proof?" She regarded him intently. "Like proving the mean ladies are witches?"

Jethro tapped her nose. "Well first, remember that I told you there really aren't witches anywhere. Remember? This story was made for entertainment and everyone knows that the witches are made up to help tell the story. But yes, witches act certain ways and dress certain ways."

She scrunched up her nose thoughtfully. "If a monster lives in my room then the monster makes proof?"

Suddenly Jethro understood the ramifications of the conversation.

"Abby, quiet now," Kate ordered, pointing towards the screen. "The commercials finished."

Abby regarded her sister before turning back to her father. She whispered, "Answer me, Daddy."

"The film started back," Tony announced. "Everyone pay attention."

Jethro hitched under her arms and pulled her up so that she hovered a few inches above him. "There would be proof somewhere," he agreed. "So now you see that this is why I keep telling you that night noises don't mean something scary is trying to get you. If monsters really existed we would find signs of them in the daytime in your room, or in the house, or even in our yard."

"All right then," she decided, pursing her lips determinedly. "I'm not going to be afraid at night anymore."

Victory!

Jethro kissed her nose and grinned, "Spread your arms way out and make angel wings." She followed the instructions with giggles and he extended his arms and then released them over and over, making her fly above him.

Jethro paused and savored the memory. The bumps in the night ceased as suddenly as they had begun for Abby.


	4. Ghosties

Ghosties

Katie ignored bumps, didn't fear long legged anythings, and had no time for ghouls. Like her siblings, though, she had her own version of night monsters, and Jethro knew them all too well.

At five Kate already conducted herself as close to her image of a little lady as she could the majority of the time. Poised and graceful, she tended to glide into a room rather than just enter one. She took pains with her appearance and definitely possessed a sense of style all of her own.

Delicate and petite, her dark hair and hazel eyes blended to create an almost elegant look.

When Jethro imagined her as an adult his musing always ushered within him a sense of calm. At five years old his Katie already chafed at being treated as a child and wanted to prove her prowess at self-sufficiency. She held her own with her siblings and friends, and her dad felt confident she would emerge into a responsible and independent adult.

That would materialize in the future, however.

At the present time Jethro worried over her terror of ghosts, which had manifested within the past couple of weeks. The fear had rendered his daughter terrified and tearful and had left him bewildered.

As with his other children, this development impacted bedtime, a time the Marine minded father longed to have proceed efficiently and smoothly.

Unlike her siblings Kate did not wake up in terror in the middle of the night. The opposite occurred. Instead, she outright refused to settle in her bed and close her eyes once Jethro had tucked her under the soft sheets. He would question, and guess, and coax, but inevitably Kate's bedtime ritual would end with Jethro sitting with his daughter until she fell asleep.

What he did elicit from her came down to scary ghosts, or Kate's insistence that she saw glimpses of ghosts in a number of areas in the house. For example, she had run screaming from the laundry room over a ghost sighting, too terrified to re-enter even after he carefully explained she had seen a still damp towel he had hung in the laundry room to dry.

Another incident occurred in the closet she and Abby shared. That time Kate had actually accrued a nasty carpet burn when she scrambled to run from the room and slipped on the carpeted stairs. Jethro had hauled her bodily back to the closet to patiently show and point out to her the white jacket she had outgrown which he had placed there that morning to hand down to Abby.

So at night Jethro would stroke her chestnut hair and rub her back while she watched him warily, on guard lest he abandon her to go elsewhere. For his part Jethro would soothe her and whisper reassurances, careful not to wake little Abby. Jethro would indicate various areas of the room and point out how they could appear different in the dark, though of course they wouldn't really transform into anything. He would share stories of his own childhood and terrors he had experienced as a boy and then methodically take her through analyzing the easily explained impacts upon his little boy perceptions.

Kate would listen attentively and sympathize with his childish misinformation, yet fail to apply the lesson to her own fears.

As it transpired, Tony proved the one to finally mollify Kate and alleviate her terrors. One rainy Saturday he and Kate lay on the living room floor, propped on their elbows. The oldest two had agreed to play a noisy game of _Old Maid_ with their younger brother and sister.

When she pulled the old maid card Abby pronounced the resemblance of the card game's old maid to an ugly, wicked witch.

Leaning over for an appraising look Kate agreed and suggested, "If we just put a hat and long dress on her she could be the Wicked Witch of the West. Remember from _Wizard of Oz_?"

Tim's green eyes widened and he predicted thoughtfully, "But then we would get very scared."

"So right," Tony agreed. "That means we could imagine anything could be something else." He looked from Kate to Tim and then snapped his fingers. "I just thought of something!"

The six year old jumped up and ran to a storage chest where he rummaged through the paper and art supplies Jethro kept for them. Digging through the stacks he yanked out a composition book and swung it above his head. "Katie, you draw 'cause you're the best artist of all of us."

Nodding, his sister held out a hand and accepted the book, a serious expression on her face.

Abby scampered to locate several colored pencils which she gleefully handed over with the request, "Make a kitty cat please, Kate."

"Wait," Tony ordered with a clap of his hands. He motioned the group to sit in a circle and pointed towards the television set. "Why not make us a Frankenstein monster from the tv?"

The other three children had long recognized Kate's artistic capability and recognized her talent, even at the young age of five. Their own sister had plenty of artistic aptitude and they were quick to bestow credit and homage to her gift.

Kate selected one of the pencils, pursed her lips in concentration and got to work sketching the television. She utilized the knobs and antenna to transform into Frankenstein's head and neck bolts.

Delighted at the monster masterpiece, her audience clapped enthusiastically. That drew Gibbs to the doorway, his curiosity piqued.

Excited at his big sister's work, Tim suggested, "Do another, please! How about those curtains up there?" Tim pointed to the drapes framing the windows.

Kate followed his hand before turning back to consult him. "What do you want me to make with the curtains?"

Tim hesitated.

"A ghost!" Abby suggested. "An ugly old ghost like all the ugly old ghosts!"

"They don't all look bad," Tony contradicted. "Ghosts don't. Not like werewolves or anything. Some ghosts just look regular."

Kate tilted her head towards the window and bit down on her bottom lip as she concentrated once again upon the requested task at hand.

Gibbs moved into the room and squatted down to watch.

Within a scant couple of minutes she had created a wonderful rendering of a floating ghost adorned with a good likeness of their living room's window treatments.

Her siblings reacted in delight and Kate beamed with pleasure, proud of her talent and pleased to be the center of the family's attention.

Grabbing both drawings Tony held them side by side. "Look, Katie," he declared. "You can take any little thing and make it something else. See what you did with the curtains and the television?"

"Kate has wonderful imagination," Jethro reminded them. "I have always said that my girl has abundant creativity."

Tony placed the illustrations on the coffee table in front of the sofa then drummed his fingers on the wood. "I just thought about something. Maybe this is why you get scared at night," he offered, indicating the pictures to his sister.

"Not every night," Kate defended. "I don't get scared all the time."

"I mean that maybe that's why you get scared because you see something just regular and your imagination makes it something else like what you just did with your drawings."

Nodding in agreement, Tim joined the conversation and echoed his brother's thoughts, "Because you saw a ghost when we saw curtains and then you saw Frankenstein when we saw the television. So at night you see something else that's just only in your own imagination." Tim clamped a hand over his mouth, delighted at his own analysis.

Gibbs witnessed the interaction unfold and chided himself for not having thought to have tapped into the resource that was his other children. It made sense that a child would understand a child.

Still, the grand prize had been breached, the goal of a newly peaceful bedtime almost attained. Hearing what her brothers thought and then applying the reasoning to her bedtime situation would definitely create a chink in Kate's night fear.

 **NCIS Team Leader Leroy Jethro Gibbs stirred and gradually re-entered the world of the awake. Peripheral noises washed over him, and he recognized the subdued voices of his team- Tony, Abby, Kate, and Tim, who apparently had left work en masse.**

Keeping his eyes squinted shut he licked his lips and demanded, "Who permitted you to leave work today?"

Abby's voice answered and he realized she must be somewhere to the side of his perch on the sofa. "The Director did, Gibbs, and of course Ducky."

Kate giggled from a position somewhere in front of him. "Ducky and the Director ganged up on you."

With that observation Gibbs opened his eyes slowly and deliberately, pulled himself up to a sitting position, and rubbed his temples resignedly.

Tony and Tim stood framed in the kitchen doorway. Jethro's blue eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"

"To protect you," Tim stammered in surprise.

Abby amended, "Watch out for you."

Jethro inhaled deeply. "Watch out from what? For what?"

"Ooh, what's the Scottish prayer Mrs. Mallard…." Kate began, her voice rising in pitch.

Tony interrupted with excitement, "Yes, yes, I think it's by Hardy, but Boss, 'From Ghosties and Ghoulies'…"

"… 'and Long leggety Creatures'…." Tim supplied, catching on to the group recitation.

Kate intoned in a dramatic voice, "…'and things that go Bump in the Night'…"

"….'Good Lord, Deliver us!' and Amen!" Abby concluded with a flourish and giggles.

Pleased with themselves, they clapped enthusiastically and even indulged in a group bow.

Jethro carefully pulled himself to a standing position and narrowed his eyes at his team. "From you four, from you," he insisted with an attempt towards a group reprimand. "Who's going to protect me from all of you?"


End file.
